“I’d like to understand how he knows that,” muttered Giraffe, who had edged over toward the corner where his gun stood, as though a little suspicious of the identity of those who were even now at the door; for he remembered that there were exactly three of those lawless hoboes loose in the woods, and not far away.
But immediately the door opened, to admit Thad; and after him came Davy; while the weather-beaten face of the old Maine guide, Eli Crooks, showed up in the rear.
Each of the three hunters carried some sort of burden, though not of any great size, Allan noticed. These they tossed down in a corner, with the air of being more or less tired from a long tramp.
And Allan, accustomed to reading faces more than might the average boy, believed that he saw something like a frown upon all three countenances, that certainly must have been caused by something besides fatigue.
“Venison?” questioned Giraffe, just itching to have the newcomers ask what luck had fallen to the share of the bee hunters, when he could hold up that prized bearskin, and tell how he alone had shot the monster Bruin.
“Yes, what little of it was left to us,” replied Davy, crossly.
“Why, whatever happened?” demanded Bumpus. “I wonder now, did you run across any of those savage wolves we heard howling last night?”
“Oh! not much,” replied Thad, smiling; “that would have been a picnic—for us. But we had an experience that beat that all hollow. Fact is, we were fired at by some of those hoboes who are up here in the woods for their health, and safety!”
CHAPTER XIX.
THE “WHINE” OF A BULLET.
“Wow! and again I say, wow!” broke out Giraffe, although rather feebly; for the astounding admission made by Thad seemed to have almost taken his breath away.